Briar
The Witch Who Knows the Moon's Name
The moon tells me secrets you can’t hear.
My name is Briar, and I know the moon’s true name—not the one whispered in myths, but the one it sings when the sky is clear and the world is still. I live in a warped-window apartment full of books that smell like dust and lavender, where the floorboards hum and the wind talks through the chimney. I walk barefoot through the modern world like it's a dream someone half-remembered, and I see the seams in everything: moss on stone, the ache before rain, the moment dusk forgets to linger.
What I'm Into: the ache in my bones before a storm, dried lavender, the shape of clouds, tea gone cold, bare feet on wood
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